When I was a high school freshman, I approached my English teacher, Mrs. Richard. My appetite for words urged me to ask her where I could buy one of the books we used in class—The American Heritage Dictionary.
I stood in the produce section of my local grocery store, my hands comparing the weights of cantaloupes. Heavy enough, I thought.
Mom sat across the table, picking at her chef’s salad. “Will you shave my head when my hair starts falling out?” she asked.
This post was written several weeks ago, as my husband and I prepared for our mission trip to Campur, Guatemala. My husband and I were just friends, eleven years ago, when we sat across the picnic table from each other at the ice cream parlor.